I've done things. Things people would consider to be "unruly," or "grotesque," or "immoral," but that is not of their concern. Why do they care about what I do? Why does it matter? I've come to terms with my wrongs and there is no need for remorse.
This is all from the heart. But my heart is transforming. It is getting colder, and colder. Why is it happening? It's because I don't want to believe the truth.
EDITING AND REWRITING: BEWARE She will meet him in the winter. They will meet like two swirling snowflakes, drifting, lost on the wind. They will meet, and they will fall together. Together, they'll feel more like themselves than they ever were alone. But like the winter, very few loves are made to last. And so to lo...